A Leader is Born
by timelordandhisbluebox
Summary: On the eve of battle, with Aslan gone, Peter must step into the role he was destined for.


**Declaimer:** I don't own the characters or the plot! I just enjoy playing with them and interpreting them in my own way!

This is based on the movie universe.

* * *

**A Leader is Born**

He was young. He was inexperienced. There were many who were better suited for the job. And yet, they had picked him, Peter Pevensie from Finchley, England – a mere boy of eighteen. Aslan himself had chosen him to become the High King of Narnia if they prevailed in battle. Peter realized he never truly understood what being a High King meant. It wasn't until the eve of battle at Aslan's Camp, when the rustling sound of leaves had startled him and his brother awake.

A green dryad had coalesced before them in their tent, causing his brother, Edmund, to bolt upright in fright from his hammock. He, on the other hand, had grabbed his sword, Rhindon, and pointed the blade's tip at her. It was an act on a newfound instinct. Only when the dryad raised her hand in a sign of peace did he lower his weapon.

"Be still, my princes," she spoke, "I bring grave news from your sisters..."

And grave news she had brought: Aslan, the Great Lion, was dead, murdered by the White Witch on the stone table.

_It can't be true_, was the first thought that crossed his mind. He could see his own disbelief and hurt reflected in his brother's eyes. How could they accept that their benevolent guide and guardian had perished in the hands of Jadis, the White Witch?

Giving them a chance to grieve, she departed; transforming back into a wave of leaves and gliding out from under the tent flap. A silence fell as the brothers tried to grasp the fact that Aslan was no more.

Then Edmund turned to him worriedly, "Peter...if what she says is true...who do you suppose will lead us in battle?"

It took a while for him to reply, his thoughts were distorted from their loss. "Let's go wake Orieus. He would know what to do." It made sense, since Orieus the centaur was the General of their Army.

Together, they climbed out of their tent and the crisp night greeted them. As they ambled through their campsite, they noticed all the torches from the night before were put out. Not a single soul, except for them, was awake in the last hours before sunrise. As they passed Aslan's magnificent tent, Peter halted.

"What's wrong?" Edmund asked, looking back at him.

"You go on. I'll meet you here in a bit." Peter told him.

As Edmund walked to Oreius's tent, Peter lit a torch and entered Aslan tent, hoping beyond hope he would be there. The tent was empty, just as he had dreaded. Why had Aslan left the safety of their campsite in the dead of night to walk right into the Witch`s path? He wondered. It couldn`t have just been a coincidence.

He could very well remember the day before when Jadis the Witch came to reiterate her claim on Edmund's life. For all traitors went to her and their blood was her property, it was the laws upon which Narnia was built. Yes, he agreed, Edmund had betrayed them to her, but he hadn't known what evil he had allied with at the time. Peter could see, after his rescue and long conversation with Aslan, Edmund had reformed. It was one of the reasons why Edmund had refused to return home, he didn't want the Narnians to suffer for his mistakes. But the Witch was persistent. Only after Aslan had spoken to her alone did Jadis renounce her claim. What had Aslan offered her in exchange? ...his own life?

Mournfully, he parted the tent flap and stepped out. He must've been there for a long while for the camp was already up, going about their usual morning duties. It was morning, but dull and cloudy, as if the skies were also grieving for Aslan. He could feel the weight of dread that hung about their camp. Many were giving wishful glances in his way.

Edmund and Orieus were standing in a distance before him, around a wooden table. After placing his torch on the cradle outside Aslan's tent, he drew near them to see the surface of the table was covered by a map of Beruna with little pieces to mark the key position of the troops. It was suppose to help them plan their battle strategy. To his dismay, it was incomplete.

"She's right," he told them, "He's gone."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Edmund and Orieus exchange concerned looks at his words. Then his brother spoke. "Then you'll have to lead us."

Peter looked up at Orieus, expecting the general to confidently launch into a detailed battle plan. But, instead, the general was staring back expectantly. Puzzled, he looked to his brother and saw the words were directed to him. A shock ran through him as the reality of the situation hit him. Orieus wasn't the new leader, he was.

"Peter, there is an army out there and it's read to follow you," Edmund assured, as if sensing his horror.

"I can't." He lowered his head.

"Aslan believed you could...and so do I."

He saw a renewed hope when he looked in his brother's eyes, and a certainty. Now he knew why so many wishful glances were being made his way. The Narnians had always believed the prophecy where four humans from another world would come and bring an end to the long winter and end the tyrant Jadis's reign. He and his siblings were their first hope after a hundred years.

Peter wasn't sure if the prophecy truly applied to them: they had come upon the wardrobe by pure chance. And with Aslan gone, things appeared more bleak. But he couldn't desert the Narnians; he would try his best to defeat the White Witch and her army. But while doing so, he won't break the promise he had made to their mother.

Leading their soldiers into battle, he'll have to face the possibility of death. He only had a few days training with Orieus on how to properly wield a sword and, though he was of average size and strength, a warrior's life depended on the force he could launch from behind a blade. This was something he lacked and had no time to build up. Speed was his only alternative.

He knew, for a warrior, dying to protect his country was noble, paternal, and honourable. He saw it in the combatants back at home. But he couldn't help wondering if dying would hurt, or whether the shock of it would overcome any pain he might feel in the moment. He wondered if Aslan would be there to guide him to whatever afterlife awaited him.

Either way, he wouldn't risk the lives of his siblings. He promised Mother he would keep them save. Their sisters, Susan and Lucy, were probably mourning and burying Aslan with all due respects. He didn't think they would expect them to ride to war, and therefore, wouldn't make it back in time. As for Edmund, he would arrange his position so that he would be a safe distance away from the battle. And if things come to the worst, he would have them depart Narnia.

"The Witch's army is nearing, sire, what are your orders?" Orieus the centaur General enquired, bringing him back to the present.

Peter let his gaze fall on the map, trying to recall exercises from his history class from when they had studied war strategy of the middle ages. He knew any wrong decisions he made would cost their warriors their lives. With Orieus more experienced help and his less helpful hazy memory; they spent most part of the morning planning their tactic.

* * *

By afternoon most if not all the clouds had rolled away, turning the day bright and sunny. Peter felt regal as he sat atop the boulder astride his white unicorn, in the front line of his army as leader of the warriors. He wore a recently made chain mail under a rich red velvet tabard with a golden rampant lion facing his sword hand. Plated armour protected his upper body, mostly on his right side, with four plate layers on his shoulders. His lower arms were graced with vambraces, his left also strapped to a steel shield with a scarlet rampant lion, and Rhindon hung from his belt. He felt every bit of a leader, of a knight, of a king.

With Orieus the centaur General by his side, they watched as the lone gryphon swoop over them, crying a warning to them and their troops. He felt nervous, excited, and exhilarated at what he was about to do – and also terrified. How could he not? He was about to go into battle for Aslan who believed in him, and for the Narnians who had hope in him.

Being an average teenager, he was supposed to be in at home England, having a good time with his friends, worried about grades and which university to apply to. But instead, here he was in Narnia, on a battle field, about to lead his soldiers into war. And yet, he felt this was what he was suppose to do, what he was meant to do.

The gryphon wheeled above an outcropping behind them, on which his brother and Mr. Beaver prepared the centaurs and dwarven archers, before swooping down on Peter's other side.

"They come, your Highness, in numbers and weapons far greater than our own." He informed worriedly.

Peter felt his first twinge of doubt. Had he made the wrong decision? Was he leading his army into slaughter? Would it be wiser to call this off and surrender?

"Numbers do not win a battle," Orieus spoke confidently from his other side.

"No," he agreed under his breath, "But I bet they help."

As they watched from across the battle field, Otmin the minotaur general crested the ridge, bellowing as he raised his battle-axe. He led his phalanx, squadrons of Cyclops and battalions of black dwarves. Peter could see they had at least ten thousand strong more than them. Twin polar bears pulled a gleaming chariot beside Otmin, in which, towering above them all in magnificent battle mail with the great lion's shaved mane and flowing robes, stood the Witch Jadis.

For a moment, Peter held her defiant gaze from across the field, before looking back at his brother. Edmund nodded, and that was all the encouragement he needed. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, drew Rhindon from its sheath and raised it before the Witch in a challenge. A trumpet sounded and his army – talking animal, centaurs, satyrs, red dwarves, and fauns alike – exploded in fierce cheer, some even banging their swords against their shields.

Jadis said something to Otmin the minotaur who then roared a battle cry. With a thunder of hooves and steel, half the Witch's army charged at them in a cloud of dust. But Peter maintained a calm yet tough demeanour, despite the fact his heart squeezed in panic. He waited, with his sword held high, until they were right where he wanted them to be. And then, with a quick movement, brought his sword down.

On his cue, great eagles, falcons, hawks, and gryphons took flight, soaring over them towards the Witch's army, their talons gripping large stones. When they were just above their enemy, they released their grasp and, before the Witch's army knew what was happening, rocks were being rained down upon them, cracking their skulls and breaking their formation.

However, Peter could see, their enemy was fighting back. Many black dwarves had their bows at the ready, firing arrows, shooting at their winged animals. On the White Witch's signal, Harpies had also taken flight, attacking in the sky. On the ground, the enemy continued to advance towards them, bellowing deafening shrieks and their weapons raised in malicious hate.

He knew it would to come to this, yet fear still gnawed at him. Had he truly made the right choice? Or had he disappointed the Narnians? Turning, he looked at Orieus the centaur who met his gaze.

"Are you with me?" he asked.

"To the death." Orieus replied.

Grateful, Peter looked at their charging enemy once more and found himself in a silent prayer: _Aslan_, _Creator and Lord of Narnia, if you hear me, please keep your paw over us. Give us strength to triumph evil...help us..._

Suddenly, he felt a flood of warmth run through him, as if he could strike, parrying, and block for the whole day and not be tired. With this ferocity, he called to his warriors and pointed Rhindon towards their enemy.

"For Narnia! And for Aslan!"

With many cheers, they charged to meet in battle.


End file.
